JB1 JAMES BOND: Crash Course
by Dan Bivens
Summary: Now that James Bond has been rebooted in CASINO ROYALE, let us take a look at Bond's first week back and how he might react, as only 007 could, to M basically punishing him by remanding him to Q Branch for the first time along with Q himself.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

"Good morning, M," James Bond, recently elevated to 00 status, said in mock merriment as he entered the grand dame's MI6 office at 85 Vauxhall Cross, London, looking more elegant than the first time she'd deigned to meet with the sandy-haired, blue-eyed, hard-jawed agent. At least he wasn't bruised and scarred this time and quite well-dressed.

"Good morning, Mr. Bond," M said, even though her short-cut, white-haired head was still bending over the latest printouts of reports and potential cases for her many agents, "just have a seat, I'll be with you in a moment."

Doing as he was told, but in no way appearing to be overly compliant, even with her, James Bond, 007, eased himself into an elegant straight-backed chair situated directly in front of the even more ornate wooden desk, then took in his surroundings with a single glance noting that, on the surface, the somewhat opulent work area looked like any other British bureaucratic office one might see on this side of London. James knew it was anything but, as he continued to patiently wait.

Tolerant. Diligent. Telling himself that his reward for lingering would no doubt be some deliciously dangerous assignment that could whisk him halfway around the globe and back. How could he know what his next "job" truly was? And what would he have done if he had?

"Very well, James," M finally heaved, settling back into the comfort of her high-backed chair and looking straight into 007's frequently cold eyes, "after reviewing your first 00 assignment…including your unsanctioned execution of Mr. White…"

"Yes, well," James said by way of an icy explanation, "I was simply taking out the proverbial trash, M, and I knew, had I contacted you first, you would've…"

"Told you to bring him in for proper questioning," M quickly countered with a look of sudden disdain dominating her genteel countenance. "James, you simply cannot go off half-cocked, as the Americans would say, when dealing with potential leads to vaster organizations such as SMERSH or SPECTRE. Had Mr. White been properly interrogated here at MI6…"

"I did obtain information," James Bond injected with a tranquil tone and terse smile. "The kind that will, inevitably, lead me to those directly responsible for what happened to Vesper."

"Mr. Bond," M was quick to state with more than just a little edge to her otherwise proper British-accented voice, "you cannot be an effective operative with the 00s and carry within you this senseless desire for personal revenge. If you do not learn to control yourself in these matters, I shall be forced to…"

"Of course, M," James cut in with a practiced smile as those cold blue eyes warmed a bit, "now…what mission do you have for me?"

Not happy at being so boldly interrupted, M nonetheless took a deep, calming breath just before soundly responding, "I do, indeed, have a very important 'mission' for you, Bond. You are to report to Q Branch…immediately."

"Q Branch," parroted James Bond with a knowing nod, trying to read M's less-than-expressive features and, most especially, her carefully guarded gaze. "No doubt for some special weapons procurement?"

"No doubt."

END OF CHAPTER 1


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The elevator ride down gave James Bond far too much time to think.

Think of how he'd tried to save Vesper Lynd from the decrepit wrought iron elevator of the collapsed building in Venice, Italy. Think of how she locked herself inside because she was so overwhelmed with guilt at having to turn the newly-promoted agent over to the opposition because they were threatening her boyfriend's life. Think of how he watched her drown. Think of how he desperately tried to resuscitate her when he finally did get her out of the submerged elevator. Think of how it proved so pointless. Then, just as remembered sadness threatened to break through the bitter walls he'd erected about his heart, he managed to track down and kill the mysterious Mr. White.

Perhaps he should've shared all he'd gleaned in those final, agonizing moments with M. But, if he had, then he would not be able to play that card later on when the possibility of using such knowledge to kill those who were White's superiors. Especially the one.

Number One.

Just as the bomb-proof elevator doors parted, James' ears were assaulted by the raucous sounds of gunfire and explosions and his nose was swiftly filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder and plastique. Ah, Q Branch, indeed.

Stepping out in his tailored suit, James Bond, no longer the rough-around-the-edges agent but well on his way to becoming the soon-to-be-suave 00 who, unknown to either him or M, would one day become a living legend and a standard against whom all future MI6 agents, if not clandestine operatives in general the world over, would be measured.

The place was a veritable beehive of activity and the person clearly in charge was a man still young in years yet old in actions.

"Uh, excuse me…"

"Yes, yes, what is it now?" snappishly said the slightly shorter man with the wild eyebrows even as he reacted with befuddled apperception of the charming man before him. "Oh. You must be Bond. M said she was sending a new 00 down here. Well…follow me."

Following close behind, but walking with the authority of a man in charge of his own fate in a manner none of these poor people in long white smocks could scarcely imagine. Bond even noted that some of the female technicians assigned to Q Branch had noticed him in much the same way as he'd observed beautiful ladies out in the "real world" reacting whenever he passed through their midst.

James managed a sexy half-smile and the promise brought about by a wink, even as the stooped old owl-fellow before him half-turned to gesture past one of the men with a machinegun firing at pointblank range at another apparently wearing some next generation of lightweight bulletproof vests that exceeded even the newest "dragon skin" vests recently developed by the Americans. James Bond inhaled sharply in order to relish in that heavenly, to him, smell of a spent firearm.

"All right, Bond, perhaps we'll be able to talk undisturbed in here," the man said matter-of-factly while waving 007 into what appeared to be a simple Plexiglas-walled cubicle containing two folding chairs. Obviously, one for each of them. "Hurry along, please."

No sooner had the slightly hunched-over man shut the ostensibly paper-thin Plexiglas door, securing it flush with the similarly paper-thin Plexiglas walls, than all the riotous noise of gunfire and controlled explosions fell into eerie silence.

END OF CHAPTER 2


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

James lightly rapped the knuckle of his right hand's forefinger against the super-thin, see-through wall impossibly blocking out the din, then gave his host a sharp well-done nod, "Very impressive, Mr., uh…"

"Major," the uncommonly intemperate man promptly corrected, "Boothroyd. You can call me Quartermaster. Everyone else down here does."

"Well," James said snidely while casually sitting and crossing one elegantly clothed trousers leg over the other, "I'll just call you…Q."

Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, the man unmistakably in charge of Q Branch sat down as well and sighed with subdued anguish, "M warned me about you, Mr. Bond."

Even as one of 007's eyebrows shot up in a solicitous fashion, Major Boothroyd a.k.a. Quartermaster and, now a.k.a. Q continued by way of explanation, "It would appear, 007, that M has scheduled an extensive training session for you here in Q Branch, regarding…"

"Excuse me, Q," Bond promptly yet politely interrupted, "did you say 'training session'?"

"Yes, Mr. Bond, now pay attention, please," Q exasperatedly sighed. "First, we'll begin with the smaller items you, like all 00 agents, will often carry on your clandestine assignments, then we'll work up to the larger. Now, first…"

Even as James Bond scowled and listened, endeavoring to digest what he'd just been told as well as its irritating implications, Q reached behind his folding chair to retrieve a large aluminum case which he situated flatly on the floor between them prior to opening it in order to expose its specially fitted interior containing, in separate molded compartments, a variety of small articles that, on the surface at least, appeared quite commonplace.

Not to mention, attached somehow to the underside of the case's lid, some sort of second case.

"Q," pressed James Bond with his disappointment deepening and his blue-eyed gaze hardening, "are you trying to tell me that, instead of sending me out on a true mission, M has relegated me to 'trainee' status…but I'm a bloody 00, damn it all, and…!"

"Now, now, Mr. Bond," Q cautioned with the tonal quality and facial affectation of a schoolmaster chastising an unruly student, "let's have none of that. The sooner we get through this, the sooner I can report to M that you are, quite possibly, ready for such a 'true mission'. As I was about to say, this case contains examples of the topnotch items a 00 might need in order to complete an assignment as well as stay alive. First, we have these various function watches, an example of which could be…"

There, there, 007, James Bond told himself as he tensely straightened his tailored suit's expensive tie, best to simply accept this obvious bit of punishment from the grand old dame so that you can actually put some of these fanciful articles to proper field use.

"…and, based upon our former cold war enemies, has a self-tightening piano wire thin garrote which, clearly, one would use to strangle another in a manner meant to both be quiet as well as saving on ammunition. Now, next…"

Bond took temporary possession of the diabolically clever, as well as surprisingly simple, wrist-worn offensive weapon, even as Q lifted out yet another innocent-looking wristwatch while orating, "…and it has a small-but-powerful single-use laser cutter that could come in quite handy should one find oneself handcuffed or manacled. Now, leaving the wristwatches for a moment, we have…"

END OF CHAPTER 3


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 3

It was all quickly becoming a blur, though James Bond forced himself to at least seem to listen closely even as the muscles in his jaw worked with barely suppressed seething over being treated like a rank recruit rather than a 00. All he heard, in what had suddenly become an intermittent teacher-student talk, was something to do with the secondary case dislodged from the larger case's open lid…

A truly beautifully crafted leather briefcase that would only open properly when its twin tiny micro-computers detected the official scanned thumbprints to easily forestall the activation of ingenious built-in antipersonnel devices such as teargas and even a 100,000 volt electrical shock. Inside were various hidden items with a specially designed false bottom under which his Walther PPK handgun could be hidden so that it would be absolutely shielded from either X-ray or metal-detecting scans. Lastly was a perfectly balanced throwing knife that could be accessed by touching a preprogrammed point on its side that would, in turn, released a spring for near-instant access. Not bad. And quite sharp.

A multi-purpose MontBlanc pen that evidently had several secret functions, a couple of which, Bond noted, had to do with the firing of a knockout dart and the exuding of corrosive metal-eating acid. Useful. And quite tasteful.

A multi-purpose keychain that, like everything else, looked innocent enough, yet which could, amongst other things, exude sleep gas, contained a universal lock pick for swift use on virtually any door lock, and, as a last resort device, a whistle-activated explosive with the punch of your average land mine. Very practical. Very deadly.

Then there was the special PDA cell which had all the normal PDA and cell phone utilities, including a GPS map and wireless internet uplink, but also had, amongst still more functions: a special fingerprint reader/projector that makes it easier to get into places using such scan devices as their primary mode of security; the capacity to tie-into any computer system for fast uploads or downloads; then, with cars containing computer systems specially designed for such, being able to actually drive a car over a short distance via touch-pad controls and actual video via its screen; lastly, providing a special safety function should anyone other than the 00 agent attempt to utilize it via a stunning electrical shock; finally, although a little low-tech compared to everything else it could do, the "antenna" was actually a removable micro-powered multi-use screwdriver. This would be a nice little stocking stuffer for the spy who has everything.

Next, an ordinary-looking credit card whose magnetic strip was universal in that a built-into-the-card nanochip scanning/computing micro-system could allow for an agent to instantly gain entrance into any hotel room or office whereby magnetic-strip keycards were required. Magnificent.

Lastly, at least in this particular high-tech item case, tucked into a tough plastic tube like an expensive cigar, was a mini-breather to be held tightly within one's mouth in order to allow said agent up to twenty minutes of underwater activity without having to come up for air. Handy.

"Now, 007," Q said with a grunt, even as he closed the now empty aluminum case even as both men stood, "we shall head up and proceed out to parking in order to present you with your final Q Branch 'device'. Shall we?"

"Of course, Q," James said with just a hint of mocking amusement, even as both men did, indeed, exit the impossibly soundproof Plexiglas cubical, walked toward the elevator which brought Bond down initially, boarded it, and waited for the dense doors to close in order to promptly prevent the earsplitting sounds of gunfire and controlled explosions from penetrating.

END OF CHAPTER 4


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

After the ride up, which was relatively swift, save for the fact its only two occupants were standing in uneasy silence as Muzak played nauseatingly over unseen speakers, Q led 007 straight through MI6's anteroom to the exterior parking lot near Vauxhall Cross.

Before Bond had the chance to query Q on their ultimate destination, he saw it: spotlessly clean, perfectly polished, and situated in a specially assigned parking slot.

"Allow me," Q quipped, "to reintroduce you to the car you won off that Dimitrios fellow…the Aston Martin DB5."

"But," James Bond began to protest with a puzzled scowl, "I thought I would be allowed to drive the DBS, like I did in…"

"M's orders, 007," Q was quick to inject in order to halt any subsequent protestations by the younger agent, "besides, we've made considerable modifications on the DB5."

"Modifications, Q?"

"Yes, come, I'll show you."

Now actually intrigued, Bond joined Q as the latter opened the driver's side door and began to point out a veritable zoo of built-in one-of-a-kind devices.

"We have, of course, the retrofitted GPS OnStar system…connected exclusively to MI6 internal operatives, of course. Now, if you lift this part of the armrest, you'll find you have easy access to controls for…forward firing twin Browning .30 caliber machine guns, extendable from fully functional front end turn indicators. Smoke screen activators from pipes attached near the rear exhaust and, otherwise, undetectable. Dual oil slick sprays from the rear light cluster. Electrically activated and elevated high-caliber bulletproof and RPG-proof plating, though your windows have all be replaced with standard bulletproof glass. Front and rear extendable heavy-rubber battering rams.

"Rear high-pressure water jet, also undetectably placed beneath the rear. Distress signal emergency burst device which can be instantly detected by any of our accessible, by MI6, satellite systems, just in case you should find yourself somewhere where neither your OnStar system nor your PDA's cell function would be usable. Retractable blades for the shredding of an enemy car's tires, located inside the tire spinners. Revolving license plates that are currently legal in almost all UK principalities.

"And, last, but most certainly not least…flip open the top of your gear shifter and you'll find the button for opening one half of the car's roof and then engaging and firing the passenger's side ejector seat. Whft!"

"You're joking, Q."

Suddenly glaring at 007 and actually straightening his stance for the first time since their initial meeting, Q sternly responded, "One thing you should learn here and now, Mr. Bond, is that I never 'joke' about my work."

"Of course," James said with a sly smile even as he slipped into the driver's seat, taking a moment to deposit the gadget-laden leather briefcase just behind the passenger's seat. "Mind if I take it for a test drive, Q?"

"Well, uh, I, uh, don't really think," stammered the gentleman with the bushy brows and hunched-over stance, even as James Bond slammed the driver's door shut, quickly buckling in, then starting, revving, and squealing away in the near-totally refitted Aston Martin DB5. "Mr. Bond! Wait! I don't believe M would approve of this! Oh, dear…"

END OF CHAPTER 5


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

"He did what?" exclaimed M into the cordless phone which, at that moment, connected her with the current head of the below-ground Q Branch. Then, after slamming it down, M was quick to stab her forefinger into another interoffice button in order to, this time, be connected to…

"Security. This is M. James Bond has taken possession of official MI6 items without prior permission. I want him located by the transponder tracers in his PDA and the GPS system of his car. Now!"

No sooner had she slammed the cordless receiver down on its base unit again, not even waiting for an affirmative response from Security, than she sat bolt upright behind her ornate wooden desk and huffed, "007, I'll bust you back to common field ops for this!"

At that particular moment, zipping in and around London traffic in his Aston Martin DB5, James Bond looked as if he hadn't a care in the world. His blue eyes gleamed. His formerly sly smile swiftly turned into a madman's grin. Except he was no more a madman than any other MI6 operative tentatively asked, on any given day while on any given mission, to place his life on the line for queen and country. Not to mention that, as a 00, he would also be asked to take lives wherever and whenever necessary.

Shifting gears and speed-clutching like an experienced race car driver, the well-groomed, well-dressed secret agent pushed his car's acceleration well beyond anything remotely permitted by English law. Thus, even before the pursuing SUVs carrying MI6 Security could get within striking distance, the compact British police cars gave chase with lights flashing and sirens singing.

This only made James grin all the wider as he began to fully test the uppermost limits of the revamped-by-Q Branch DB5 could reach. As to the likelihood of actually being arrested, 007 knew that MI6 could scarcely stand any sort of scandal involving one of their greatest assets in the war against super-criminals, remaining communists, and terrorists. He'd never so much as have to appear in court to answer a speeding summons.

"We've got to get him first," proclaimed the leading Security officer for MI6, by the name of Lyle St. George, dressed only in an ordinary suit and tie with close-cropped blonde hair, "before the police. Step on it!"

Even after making that fatalistic statement, the similarly dressed Security persons accompanying Mr. St. George were busily locking-and-loading their American-made Ruger MP9s having specially threaded muzzles with silencer extensions. All were making ready for the eventual use of deadly force in order to prevent Bond from embarrassing not only the secret agency, but the crown.

Just then, one of the compact British police cars did, indeed, pull alongside the still-speeding DB5, which would turn out to be a major mistake.

"Pull over!" loudly ordered the thirty-something driver of the police car in question, even as his twenty-something partner raised his automatic handgun in preparation for possible use should James Bond arrogantly ignore the duly issued decree. Which, being Bond, he did.

007 merely smiled in sarcastic reply as he glanced down, for all of one second, at the now-opened armrest in the middle of the expensive sports car's interior and pressed the appropriate activation button that would, first, extend and, then, rapidly spin the tire-shredder apparatus so innocently disguised as a normal wheel spinner.

Vrrrrr-POW!

With the swift and sudden destruction of the speeding police car's front driver's side tire, which was literally reduced to viciously shredded rubber, the rim dropped hard and dug into the roadway, causing a shower of sparks to spray forth even as the uniformed officer driving lost control which, in turn, caused the vehicle to flip over onto its side whereby it was promptly impacted by a trailing-but-quickly closing police car.

"So much for London's finest," Bond quipped with a self-satisfied smirk, even as he glanced in both rearview and side mirrors to see the two SUVs closing fast. "Now for MI6's vaunted Security."

Gear-shifting like a well-trained race car driver once again, James Bond careened through traffic at incredibly high speeds for the sole purpose of leading his most potentially deadly pursuers someplace where he could take them out of the equation as well without doing undue harm to the innocent.

"He's getting away!" Lyle St. George roared at no one in particular and, then, to the driver, "Bloody step on it!"

"Yes, sir," the driver responded dutifully even as he did, indeed, send the leading SUV careening around traffic at a far greater velocity than scant seconds before. "He'll not get away, sir."

Promises, promises, Lyle thought to himself with a silently sarcastic roll of his eyes while maintaining his visual vigil in regards to the incredibly fast and well-driven DB5.

James Bond decided to lead his MI6 sanctioned pursuers on a merry chase to a final destination some 24 kilometers west of London proper: Heathrow Airport and its extensive parking areas, which would promise much more maneuverability for the 00 agent.

"Might as well have a bit of fun along the way, James," 007 muttered to himself with an amused sneer even as the DB5 sailed along the much larger roadways in order to try out some of the top-secret accessories recently installed into his singular vehicle. "Let's see now…"

END OF CHAPTER 6


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7/CONCLUSION

Starting small, James first finger-stabbed a button which activated his DB5's rear end smoke generators that would, to put it mildly, make things quite difficult for the SUVs closing on him.

"What the bloody hell…?"

That voiced frustration by Lyle St. George was clearly felt by all, as the driver, of his SUV slowed just enough to "feel" their way through the thick cloud created by James Bond's less-than-ordinary sports car, then immediately sped up in order to catch the careening, speeding Aston Martin DB5.

"Get a little closer," Lyle ordered while locking-and-loading his own silencer-fitted Ruger MP9 even as he and the two in the backseat leaned out of just lowered tinted windows in order to take aim and open fire…

Brrrrrrrrrrr-phfffffffffft! Brrr-phffft!

Though the semi-automatic gunfire was basically sputtered whispers, Bond wasn't surprised to hear the zings! of multiple bullet impacts tagging his bulletproof rear wind screen.

Even as the shower of bullets continued to pepper that cracked up rear wind screen, Bond activated the bulletproof/bomb-proof metal shield that swiftly arose from its hidden position above the car's boot in order to provide ready and complete protection from further 9mm Parabellums which, now, ricocheted away.

"Damn him," snarled St. George as he returned to his seated position on the lead SUV's passenger's side and ordered, "Cease fire! Cease fire!"

Having made that command not only in person to those armed Security personnel with him in his SUV, but, via wireless radio, those in the second as well, Lyle knew all too well what kind of hell would be raised should their dangerously ricocheting bullets end up killing innocent drivers and passengers in even one of the other vehicles heading along the self-same highway.

"Ram him!"

Already anticipating such, even though the still-raised bulletproof/bomb-proof slab of moveable metal blocked his vision via his chipped and cracked rear window, James Bond, still beaming like a maniac, pressed the necessary button to send a spray of slippery oil out from just-lowered rear light assemblies, in order to coat the roadway directly to the DB5's tail…

…which, once the lead SUV hit it, instantly lost all tire traction to be sent spinning out to be hit by the second SUV whose driver responded fast enough to avoid the instant oil slick in order to maintain fast pursuit of the escaping via high-speed silver sports car.

Slightly shaken, but otherwise unharmed, Lyle St. George angrily radioed the rapidly leaving second SUV to shout, "Catch that bugger and show 'im what happens to smart-arses!"

"Roger!"

Glaring over at the driver of his own sideways-positioned (as oncoming traffic squealed around them) SUV, St. George raged, "Well, what the bloody hell're you waiting for? Get after him!"

"Yes, sir!"

Once again, two identical SUVs were hurtling recklessly along after the rapidly traveling Aston Martin DB5, still under James Bond's adroit handling, careening around other vehicles heading in the same general direction: Heathrow Airport.

After a relatively short time, considering that 24 kilometers could most definitely be covered quite quickly at such sustained speeds, the DB5 whipped into one of the entrances leading into the sprawling open parking areas where Bond planned upon the final showdown with the closely following SUVs. Heading toward one of the less crowded lots, 007 used both brakes and spot-on steering to swing his silver sports car a full 180-degrees to come to a squealing stop to await the rapid approach of his erstwhile adversaries.

"Come on, come on," James hummed impatiently, until he saw the two SUVs, one beside the other, speeding toward him in preparation for either arresting the arrogant agent on behalf of the crown…or killing him. Not that Bond would permit either to take place without a proper fight.

"That's just about close enough, gentlemen," James Bond said with a slanted smile even as he pre-activated the final antipersonnel equipment incorporated into a car he'd won from Dimitrios in that quite important poker game at The Ocean Club in Nassau. "Now!"

Extending from dropping-down secretively hinged front turn indicators, twin Browning .30 caliber machine guns immediately blasted away at the SUVs just as they were within range.

"Look out!" shouted St. George as he and his men, save the two drivers, ducked in preparation for avoiding the incoming hail of bullets. Little did they know that it wasn't necessary as Bond's "aim," if you will, had nothing to do with the Security persons inside said SUVs.

Instead, the well-placed spray of .30 caliber bullets merely chewed through tires and front grills in order to render both vehicles essentially useless in the span of seconds.

"That should do the trick," Bond sighed with a self-gratified grin while deactivating the deployment-and-firing system for said built-in wing machineguns, which, he instinctively knew, allowed both to retract into their previous housings even as hinged front light indicators returned to their properly secured position. Then, with a shifting of gears, popping of the clutch, and stomping down of the accelerator…

…the DB5 sped swiftly around the de-tired SUVs as the men inside each now rose into seated positions while taking stock of their situation, all while James Bond shouted as he passed the one with Lyle St. George, "See you gentlemen back at headquarters! Try to be back before afternoon tea!"

Even though thousands of English pounds worth of damage had been done to two MI6 Security SUVs, not to mention the public discharging of firearms while attempting to stop the speeding sports car, Lyle St. George inevitably turned to those Security men accompanying him and said with an ingratiating grin, "That bloody bastard is going to be one hell of a 00."

Meanwhile, quite a bit more than a mere few minutes later, the misappropriated Aston Martin DB5 reentered the exterior parking area outside MI6 of 85 Vauxhall Cross. Having been alerted to 007's expected return by Lyle St. George via special secure cellphone, both Q and M were waiting for the uninspired arrival.

Even though M bore a grievous scowl with glaring, though hooded, eyes, James Bond nonchalantly climbed out via the driver's side, leisurely closing the door, and approached both as Q bore the mien of an aggravated grandfather quick to check over the sports car for potential damage, 007 simply strode toward them both.

"I did say I was going to take it for a test drive."

END


End file.
